


Five people Abed loses, and one he doesn't.

by roselew



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:06:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2089986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselew/pseuds/roselew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t think you were coming back.” He says carefully, watching Troy from the corner of his eye. Troy blinks, meets his gaze for a moment. “I missed you.” He continues, and Troy looks like he might cry. He shifts, drops his head onto Abed’s shoulder and Abed lets him, because this is more like ‘normal’ than anything that’s happened for the last three days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five people Abed loses, and one he doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt for the 'five things' ask game. 
> 
> Thought it'd be a good idea to finally upload my Community stuff here.

**one**  - His mom never cried when she was sad. She cried when she was happy, or angry, or when his cousin announced she was pregnant, but not once did she shed tears of sadness. She would press her fingers to her temples, cup her hands over her face, but never cry.

Maybe that was why it was so hard to foresee her decision to leave: Abed had heard his parents fight, their screaming audible even from his bedroom with his hands pressed tight over his ears, but the idea of his mother leaving altogether was foreign, until it happened.

She packed her bags without ceremony; Abed peered at her through her bedroom door and his father ignored her completely. She pressed a kiss to Abed’s forehead and promised to call home soon, that she’d miss him terribly. She didn’t. A postcard arrived a few months later, but she never called.

It took him years to realise that he lost her that day: she maintained the façade for so long that it never occurred to him that she wasn’t his, any-more.

**two**  - His dad never cried, he just yelled; voice perpetually raised as if expecting something to anger him. He would grasp Abed by his bony shoulders, urge him into Doctor’s offices and hours of therapy, frustration growing with every session that didn’t give him the answers he wanted.

He treated his son’s eventual diagnosis like a trophy, sent copies of the documents to his absent mother and Abed knew, then, that it was his own fault that his mother left: the diagnosis just gave a name to the disorder that pushed her away.

He knew his father cared for him, but they differed too much, understood each-other too little to be close: his father’s blame and his own guilt still burned, and though they saw each-other often enough, Abed could never be sure just how much he had left of his father to lose.

**three**  - He’d have liked to say that Pierce’s death left the study group broken, that everything felt wrong and off-kilter without the seventh member of their group. That’s how death is supposed to feel: death is sitting in silence and missing the person who isn’t there, it’s struggling through the damage and emerging as a better person.

It wasn’t like that. Pierce didn’t leave a void that needed to be filled, he just…wasn’t there. The lack of fallout from their friend’s death left Abed wondering just how crucial any one of them was to the group.

He entertained the notion of timelines, once again, and thought about who, if anybody, would be left hopeless if he were to vanish in Pierce’s place. He was certain they would miss him, but wasn’t sure they wouldn’t forget about him, eventually.

He thought of Troy, and paused, feeling himself smile. He and Troy were different: Troy needed him just like he needed Troy. He had glanced around the group and assured himself that if he were to disappear, Troy, at least, wouldn’t forget about him.

**four**  - At first, Abed was, surprisingly, fine when Troy left. He felt a little sad, a little empty, but Troy promised to call, or send letters, or communicate ‘however you can from a boat.’ Abed stayed awake for a long while the first night, the emptiness from before evolving into a hollowness that ached whenever his thoughts turned to Troy’s empty bedroom across the hall. He felt homesick, like he was stranded somewhere foreign without a way back home. He told himself that it wouldn’t last.

Troy promised he would call, but he didn’t.

Three-hundred and sixty-five days passed without a single word. The group stopped assuring him that Troy would get back to them soon; Britta said he must have gotten caught up somewhere - that he was sat on some tropical beach and lost track of time. He thought she was half-joking, at least. Annie didn’t say anything - just met Abed’s eyes from across the table and smiled a little sadly.

They didn’t talk about him much beyond that. Troy vanished from their lives and they all vanished from his; Abed thought back to timelines, how he had assumed Troy would miss him if he vanished.

He wasn’t so sure, any-more.

**five**  - The group did eventually separate, its members going in different directions but staying close, orbiting each-other like planets. Annie stayed in the apartment, and though Abed saw less of her, they still spent their evenings watching TV, and nothing really changed. Shirley emailed everyone at least once a week, and Britta texted, visited occasionally without warning. Abed didn’t have a chance to miss any of them.

Jeff just…went.

He replied to Shirley’s emails and Britta’s texts for a month, came to a party that Annie threw, and that was it. Abed never thought he’d miss Jeff, not really. They weren’t friends in the most common definition, and the idea that Jeff would eventually go back to his ‘old life’ was one that they had all grown used to over the years. Without him, everybody was fine, so Abed wasn’t sure why he found himself wishing Jeff was still there.

It was months later that Abed found himself putting on his shoes at 11pm, closing the door carefully so he didn’t wake Annie, and making his way to Jeff’s apartment.

Jeff opened the door and stared for a moment, said Abed’s name as if the visit wasn’t completely unexpected. They sat in silence for a long while - Abed didn’t know exactly why he was visiting, and Jeff made two coffees so he didn’t have to speak. He looked tired, and guilt hid in the depths of his eyes whenever he looked at Abed.

Abed had hoped that seeing Jeff would achieve something, that it would quell the uneasiness he’d been feeling, but truthfully, it only made it worse. Eventually Annie called, concerned, asked Abed where he was, and Jeff’s eyes dropped to the steam rising from his cup when he heard Annie’s muffled voice through the receiver.

Jeff held the front door open as Abed left, told him he’d ‘be in touch.’ Abed nodded, but he’d heard that line too many times to believe it.

 

**six**  - one-hundred and seventy-five days later, Annie hands Abed a letter, hand-written on wrinkled paper. The writing is wobbly, almost unreadable in the way it sprawls across the page, but Annie is grinning at him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, so he makes an effort to decipher the text. The letter is addressed to both him and Annie, and it becomes immediately apparent who it’s from. He stares for a long time, unsmiling, until Annie says his name, plucks the letter from his hands. She lays her fingers on his wrist, asks him if he’s okay, and he nods distantly, staring somewhere over her left shoulder.

 

He goes to the dreamatorium. Or, what’s left of it. The cardboard is starting to bow a little at the edges, but it’s usable. He sits, draws his knees to his chest, and doesn’t imagine anything - the darkness is comforting, for once.

 

Troy was coming back. The letter must have been sent weeks ago, as Troy’s return date was only a few days away, and while Abed had waited for this for more than a year, the reality was different to how he’d imagined it would be. He can hear Annie on the phone, spreading the news, organising a party to welcome Troy home, and he hates that it’s so difficult, hates that he’s struggling with something that should be so easy.

 

A while later, Annie cracks open the dreamatorium door an inch, tells Abed that she’s ordered thai, if he wants to join her. He doesn’t, he’d rather stay tucked away for as long as he can, but Annie smiles hopefully, and he knows she’s afraid he’s going to shut down. He reassures her by standing, stretching his cramped arms and following her to the takeout boxes on the table.

 

Three days later, and everyone’s in their apartment. Shirley, Britta and, surprisingly, Jeff are sitting on the couch, talking and laughing. Annie wanders between the group and the kitchen. Abed sits alone and watches the door.

 

The intercom doesn’t buzz - Annie had propped the building’s door open with the $50 brick, so Troy knocks on the door four times. Abed sits, motionless, as the group hurries to the door, as Annie opens it with a click. He averts his eyes, a heavy, anxious feeling settling in his chest, and the reunion is surprisingly quiet; Troy hugs everyone in sequence, Annie wipes her eyes, Jeff smiles.

 

Finally, everyone falls silent, and Abed can feel their eyes on him.

 

He looks up, blinks rapidly, gaze finally settling on Troy. He’s the same - his hair is longer, his jaw is stubbled, Abed doesn’t know what else he expected. Troy’s eyes are serious, brows drawn upward. The silence stretches and Abed swallows.

 

“You said you’d call.” He says quietly, and for a moment, Troy looks hurt.

 

“I put a letter in a bottle. I guess it didn’t make it here.” He says, carefully, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to joke, yet.  

 

Abed smiles, just a little. “The nearest body of water is two hours away.”

 

Things don’t go back to normal that day, nor the next. Troy moves back into his room, even though he’s technically a millionaire and could live wherever he wanted. Abed doesn’t think that Troy is entirely aware of that fact, yet. They watch Cougartown, and Troy talks about having no TV on the yacht and how he was kidnapped by pirates, though Abed thinks he must be lying about the latter, at least. They all go to bed on the third night, and while things are fine, they’re still not right. Abed lays quietly in his blanket fort and listens to Troy wander around the apartment; apparently living on a boat can mess up your sleep cycle. The blankets surrounding him part, then, and Troy peers hesitantly into the darkness.

“Can I come in?” He says, and Abed sits up and nods. Troy hesitates, before sitting cross-legged on the floor at the foot of the bed. Abed joins him, legs stretched out on the blankets. They’re silent for a long time, too long, Abed thinks.

 

“I didn’t think you were coming back.” He says carefully, watching Troy from the corner of his eye. Troy blinks, meets his gaze for a moment. “I missed you.” He continues, and Troy looks like he might cry. He shifts, drops his head onto Abed’s shoulder and Abed lets him, because this is more like ‘normal’ than anything that’s happened for the last three days.

 

Troy sighs, a thick, muffled sound into Abed’s pyjama shirt. “I missed you, too.” It’s a relief to hear him say it, and Abed half-smiles, butts his shoulder against Troy’s.

  
“Tell me more about the pirates.” He says, and Troy grins.


End file.
